Little Nocturnal Bird
by HereGoesMyReputation
Summary: Working the streets wasn't what Sansa dreamed her future would consist of – yet many trials and misfortunes have led to desperate times, which meant taking desperate measures. After being scouted by Petyr Baelish for his brothel, Sansa's future looks slightly less bleak. Yet who will save her when it really matters - her regular client the Hound or her new infatuation Baelish?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Working the streets wasn't what Sansa dreamed her future would consist of – yet many trials and misfortunes have led to desperate times, which meant taking desperate measures. But her life changed when she met Petyr Baelish – the new owner of the local brothel, bleeding Sansa dry of all her regulars. She is close to giving up until Petyr offers a position, as a professional sex worker – in exchange for secrets. Sansa feels he is her hero in disguise – but who will save her when it really matters- her regular client the Hound or her new infatuation Baelish?

 **A/N:** **Welcome to** _ **Little Nocturnal Bird**_ **! This is completely new territory as I have never written an M before! I thought that as Game of Thrones is for an older audience, this type of fic isn't a big deal. PLUS I was just plain curious at writing one – FYI this took a lot to post! XD Please let me know how I have done once you have read it.**

 **Little Nocturnal Bird**

Shivering in the cruel wind of the South's winter, Sansa pulled her thin raincoat around her body. Today was the coldest day of the year so far, but Sansa paid no mind to the temperature; things like that didn't matter when you had bills to pay and a boss to please. She could remember her livid voice playing in her mind, _'I want at least 100 tonight. No exceptions or you can find somewhere else to work.'_

She took a deep breath, and untied her coat despite the freezing temperatures, in a bid to show her nearly bare body. She was wearing a pair of thin fishnet stockings, knee high boots and a short black dress leaving little to the imagination. Most nights were quiet in Sansa's zone, due to a new local brothel which was gaining popularity along with her usual clients, just round the corner. A daunting mountain of bills continued to increase, and they needed to be paid.

Sansa strutted a pose as a black Mercedes drove down the litter and gum-filled street, flicking her curled auburn hair over her shoulder as she tried to look the driver in the eye. Her tactic worked; the man braked smoothly as he looked her up and down, his eyes not leaving hers as he got out of the flashy vehicle and walked over to the back of the car. Sansa frowned slightly as he fluidly opened the door to reveal a small and slimy man; with so much gel in his greying hair it looked as crunchy as frost. His lips were curled into a smirk that made her feel uneasy, and his grey-green eyes travelled up her body, and somehow up her skimpy dress.

"You must be freezing, young lady. Please," He paused as he smiled, "be my company for the night."

Grateful for the first client in a few days, Sansa jumped into the car without a second thought. Her nose threatened to scrunch up as the stench of mint filled her nostrils, but she didn't want to upset the older man, who was staring over at her with eyes that gave nothing away.

"We should go somewhere more private." She spoke, her voice full of desire – something she had learned from the 2 years she had been working.

Her client lifted a brow, "You're well trained."

Sansa wanted to leap out of the car at that point, his sliminess contaminating her skin as if it was contagious. Yet the warmth the car provided, and the thought of going back to Chataya empty-handed kept her firmly in the heated leather seat.

His smirk returned, "And you are right. Driver, take us home."

Sansa felt the anxiety build inside her; _I can't go to his house, it's the number one rule._

"Sir, I'm afraid I can't do that." She said, as confident as she could muster.

"Do you want the money or not?" He threatened, the car picking up speed as his driver sped round the corner.

She remained silent as the engine roared, her heart beating against her chest as the man gazed at her assets. Fear fizzed inside her stomach, as she realised what she was facing. Of course she'd had dodgy men, most of them were, but this man was different; he didn't look like her usual clients, who were either lonely old businessmen or young pissheads who wanted a quickie. None of her past clients even came close to this man, who often fingered the mockingbird cufflinks on his crisp white shirt, or twisted his rings round his stubby fingers. Every so often he would look at her in the corner of his eye, and Sansa couldn't detect whether it was lust or disgust – whatever it was, it made the woman uncomfortable.

Sansa tried to avert her gaze out of the blacked out windows, her eyes widening as she saw an elaborate drive and a vast Victorian house came into view. She was amazed yet saddened; she had never seen something so magnificent since her childhood, and that brought up memories that Sansa did not care to remember.

As they pulled up to the porch, the driver smoothly braked and stepped out to open the car door, leaving a sour taste in Sansa's mouth. They were there now – which meant only one thing. _Grow the fuck up Sansa. You've been doing this for two fucking years._

The door opened swiftly, letting the bitter cold air into the car as the driver held out his hand. Sansa took it cautiously, finding the situation surreal and out of her comfort zone. Waiting patiently for her client to get out of the Mercedes, Sansa briskly took her flask of whisky out of her boot and swigged a mouthful, feeling the buzz and burn of the liquid in her throat. Surges of confidence filled her, and she felt ready for a _hopefully_ quick fuck.

Her client walked her up the polished oak stairs, his stare leaving a burning hole in her head.

"My bedroom is the door at the end of the corridor. Please make yourself comfortable." He spoke smoothly, leaving her at the top of the stairs as he unlocked a door opposite her without another word.

Sansa felt like tiptoeing across the creaky floorboards as she walked to his bedroom, finding the candlelit corridor eerie to say the least. She eyed the peculiar paintings that were plastered among the walls, and took another swig from her flask for some more Dutch courage.

Gingerly, she opened the squeaking door and sat herself on the king-size bed, rubbing the red silky bedding between her cold fingers.

Sansa pulled her coat and slinky dress from her body, revealing a skimpy black bra, lacy underwear and fishnet stockings. Hearing her client walking along the corridor, she quickly grabbed a mint from his bedside table and chewed on it as she waited for him to enter.

His bedroom door whined as he pushed his way through, his eyes showing glimpses of lust as his gaze rested on her body. The man rarely paid mind to the looks of women, other than the ones who worked for him, but this woman made his manhood heat up with steaming arousal. Her pale and healthy skin looked inviting to touch, almost glowing from the moonlight that reflected off her supple body as she lay on her side, contrasting the red of the silk she laid on. She looked almost perfect, but Petyr Baelish did not want to give that away. Instead he smirked, and walked towards her, reaching out his hand to glide along her back.

"Please me tonight, and you will be rewarded."

Sansa slowly moved up onto her knees, making her the same height as her client, and leant over to purr in his ear, "You won't be disappointed Sir."

He returned the gesture, "Please…" he cupped her breasts, her nipples instantly hardening at the touch, "call me Petyr."

Sansa bit her lip as he undid the clasp of her bra, her breasts no longer constricted by the tight garment. Despite how slimy the man came across, she felt herself leaning into his touch, his rough hands rubbing her bare stomach and thighs. For the first time in two years, Sansa wanted the stimulation his touch offered, goose bumps rising on her skin as she become more aroused. She leant in and kissed his neck, beginning to unbutton his white shirt as she murmured his name into his skin. Her breath hitched as he pinched her hardened nipples, compelling her to speed up with his shirt as she wanted to touch more.

"Petyr…" She moaned as his tongue came into contact with her breasts, his hand moving down to her crotch. He flicked her sex and she did something no experienced prostitute should ever do – kiss her client on the mouth.

Her lips crashed against his, her heart pumping faster as they fought for dominance – passion engulfing the both of them. She slid her smooth hands down his hairy chest, down his abdomen until she found his crotch, feeling his pulsing erection under thin fabric. Seductively, she pulled away and bit her lip, gently pulling him down on the bed to join her aching body.

Sansa relished the tingles his hands offered, touching every sensitive area that she didn't know could offer her pleasure, despite spending two years in the same line of work. Yet Sansa didn't want to that this was just another job – she wanted Petyr to be a _man_ , not her client. Petyr kissed the nape of her neck, feeling it tingle as he gently sucked her skin. Her eyes shut with bliss; she felt loved.

 _He had done it_ – Petyr smirked as he released his load, looking down at the exhausted figure below him, naked and somehow pure, even after everything she had done in her short life. She looked at peace for the first time in the weeks that Petyr had been spying on her, and it filled the man with smugness that he was the one to do it; he had her just where he wanted her.

Tantalizingly, he slowly pulled out of her, his erection already beginning to soften. He reached for the bedside table and picked up birth control tablets, throwing them onto the girls toned abdomen.

"Take one. I know you probably have your own, but I like to take my own precautions." Petyr smirked again, walking over to the door and taking his silk dressing gown from the hook.

She obliged, swallowing the tablet and taking a swig from her whisky flask to wash them down. Her hair was more tussled than ever, her thick lips stuck in a pout, and Petyr wanted nothing more than to take her again. Yet there was time for that; he knew she couldn't possibly decline his offer.

Petyr took a mint from the bowl on the table, sucking it as he spoke softly, "I was extremely impressed by your performance; it felt like I wasn't paying you for cheap sex. You made me feel that you _wanted_ it. Well done."

Sansa looked away from his piercing gaze, feeling like a child who had been awarded a gold star in class. _Well done?_ She thought sarcastically, _I'm not a fucking kid._

He continued talking, using a finger to coax her face upwards to look at him. "I'd like to offer you a position at one of my brothels. I believe you'd be perfect."

Her heart stopped as she contemplated his offer, a feeling of pain froze her heart. She had somehow forgotten that she was his client; the sex they had felt like more than the fuck he was paying for – yet Sansa was used to disappointment.

She raised a brow, "So you're the new brothel owner?"

Petyr smiled haughtily, "Yes…a fine establishment. Very popular, I'm sure you know."

Sansa nodded, "so what would I be doing?"

"Fucking people…it's what you do now isn't it?" He rested his hand on her bare shoulder, "...except you'd be getting secrets out of them, not money. Maybe I should mention that."

"Secrets?" Her eyes widened. "What the fuck would _I_ be getting out of that?"

"A job, inside where it is _warm_ and comfortable. Food whenever you'd like it, constant company…everything you could possibly want. Working for me, will be far better than for Chataya."

Sansa stood up, "How do you know I work for her?"

"Sansa sweet, I know everything about you. Your past, your unfortunate siblings and how your poor father was killed… _everything_."

Shocked, Sansa gathered all of her clothes and began to get dressed. "The position I have now is perfectly fine, thank you Sir. Please may I have my money?"

Petyr grabbed her wrist, "I know all about your past Sansa Stark. You have little money, and you will have even less if you continue to work for Chataya. Do yourself a favour and work for me."

Her breath hitched in her throat- this was a trap and she should have known. He was testing how good she was at sex before offering her a job at his brothel…getting rid of the competition on the streets. She was just a pawn in his vile business, and there was little way of getting out of it.

She pulled away at his touch and continued to dress. She replied fiercely, "I will inform you of my decision tomorrow evening. However, I _want_ the money I am owed."

He smirked, her demanding tone echoing in his mind. "Of course, but think carefully; I will not be making this offer twice." He reached into the pocket of his robe and handed her two fifty pound notes.

Sansa smiled coyly. "Thank you Sir. It was a pleasure to work with you."

 **A/N:** **Thank you for making it to end – it means a lot!**

 **Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Just as a disclaimer, I am currently only half way through the 2** **nd** **book so most details will be based on what I know so far, the show or Game of Thrones wiki.**

 **Also, updates will not be frequent as I like to take my time writing so it does not feel rushed and I re-read it frequently before posting, plus I have a lot of school work from college. Anyway, please follow if you liked it!**

 **~HereGoesMyReputation**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Woman of The Night**

 **Chapter 2**

Sansa's eyelids fluttered open in the bleak bareness of her bedroom, watery sunlight dripping through the cracked window opposite her on a chilly winter's day. Sansa stretched tiredly, the bed protesting of her weight in loud squeaks. Her bed was a rickety second-hand frame – but she welcomed it after endless nights of fucking and people-pleasing. This was her home- her comfort. She found no comfort or love in strange men's cars, or in alleys reeking of piss. Her flat was nothing to show off, but it was _hers._

Sleepily, she rose from her bed and made her way to the bathroom, ready to wash off all that Petyr may have left on her. Sansa twisted the metal knob in the shower and felt the ice-cold water drip over her body, goose bumps erupting on her skin until the water eventually warmed, and her face gained the healthy glow that the constant coldness took away. She scrubbed and rinsed away all the evidence of last night, and stepped out of the shower feeling clean and _normal._

Sansa wrapped a scratchy cotton towel around her thin frame and turned on the radio in her room, listening intently to the news as she attempted to comb through her wet hair.

"The Mayor Joffrey Lannister has stated begging on the streets illegal." The voice droned on, "If one is caught doing so, they will be punished accordingly before the court. Seven Blessings to all."

Sansa sighed as she dried herself, feeling deep sorrow for all of the people living on the streets with nowhere to go, with death imminently on their doorstep. How long would the public put up with such a man? _I used to admire him,_ Sansa thought as she slipped her arms through her bra straps, _How could I have been so stupid?_

The phone by the door buzzed noisily, shaking Sansa from her thoughts. After shrugging on her pink dressing gown, she timidly held the vibrating phone to her ear.

"Hello?" Sansa spoke as coolly as she could.

"It's Chataya, let me in."

Sansa pressed the button so her boss could come upstairs, and nibbled on her nail as she anxiously waited.

A harsh knock made her jump, followed by an impatient shout- "Sansa, open this door _please!_ "

Timidly, Sansa unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Chataya, dressed in jeans and a bright green jumper.

"Have you got the money?" She asked impatiently, her tanned hand already outstretched.

Inwardly, Sansa sighed. All she had was five pounds and the money from Petyr, meaning that five pound note would have to pay for food in the next few days.

She grabbed the two notes from the boot by the door and handed them both to Chataya, attempting to ignore the twisting sensation in her stomach.

"Finally…" She shoved the money into her jeans, and her gaze softened as she looked at Sansa's tired face. "I know it's difficult, Sansa. But I've got to look after my business too, and if I give too many chances, I'll lose everything that I've worked for."

Sansa nodded nonchalantly, looking hungrily at the paper notes that peeked from Chataya's pocket.

"And I'm so sorry to say this, but I can't have an unreliable girl working for me. Times are hard at the moment, and I need the money bang on time." Chataya looked at her sadly, "You need to find somewhere else to work."

This pulled her gaze up to Chataya's face, and she felt her knees turn to jelly.

"W-what? How am I supposed to get more work on this notice? My rent is due next week, and there is no other zone I can work in unless someone hires me…and who's going to hire me?"

"Maybe you could work on your own until you find someone else?"

Sansa rolled her eyes, "I might survive an hour at most before I get ambushed for being in someone else's zone."

Chataya returned the gesture, "Look, I've got to look out for myself right now. I am genuinely sorry, but there is nothing I can do." She took a step back from the door way, "Good luck Sansa."

Helplessly, Sansa shut the door and slid against the dodgy green paintwork down to the floor.

"The brothel it is…" She spoke feebly.

Reluctantly, Sansa left her flat for probably the last time, with a few things thrown into a leather sack strung over her shoulder. She stepped backwards towards the kerb, and looked up at the grotty block of flats that she had lived in for the past two years. Graffiti marked the brick walls, already blackened with pollution, and pieces of chewing gum were etched in-between bricks. The redhead felt like she wasn't just saying goodbye to Mandela House, the name ironic considering a tyrant was running the country - she knew she was leaving what remained of her freedom.

With a sudden swivel of her heel, Sansa made her way towards Petyr's brothel. She had tried to dress modestly for the occasion; all she wore was a plain white jumper and ripped black jeans, as she didn't want to appear _too_ desperate. But Sansa, and most likely Baelish, both knew this was her last chance of staying off the streets.

As she turned onto Silk Road, the only part of Kings Landing that appeared to have some 'class', she faced an immaculate red brick building, modern and obscure among the other businesses lining up down the stretch of road. It looked like a posh dentist; through the large window, Sansa could see a set of loungers and armchairs situated in front of a reception desk, where a fellow red-headed woman sat, her face glued to a computer screen. The sign above her head read: _The Promise of Desire_ – next to a golden plague, engraved with the image of a mockingbird. Taking a deep breath, Sansa took a step inside, tempted to roll her eyes as she heard a bell tinkling as the door shut behind her. _This is a brothel for fuck sake._

The women behind the desk raised her head from the screen, and smiled widely as Sansa walked towards the desk.

"You must be Sansa." She smiled, looking away to type manically at her keyboard.

Sansa tried to smile at the woman. "Yes, how do you know?"

Still smiling, she stood up from her chair and grabbed a folder from a filing cabinet behind her. "Mr Baelish was expecting you, and told me to prepare a folder for when you arrived." She handed it over casually, "And I've seen you in the press…you're very beautiful I must add."

 _So he knew I was coming – how did he know Chataya was going to fire me?_

"Urm…thanks?" Sansa shoved the folder under her arm.

"You're welcome." She extended her perfect manicured hand. "The name's Roz."

"Hi…" She shook it awkwardly, "So what do I do now?"

Roz sat back in her chair with a thump, "Wait outside Mr Baelish's office. Up the stairs, second door on the left. Knock and wait for him to let you in."

"Thank you."

Sansa went the way Roz explained, knocked twice on Baelish's office door and waited for him to allow her entry.

"Come in."

Tentatively, Sansa walked into his office. Her nose burnt as the strong stench of mint attacked her senses. Mints were usually used to cover up something – the taste of cigarettes, alcohol or something that left a bad taste. Sansa wondered what Petyr Baelish was trying so hard to hide.

She met his cool gaze as he lounged behind a desk, his feet perched on a pile of tatty files. His lips curled into a smirk as Sansa sat in the chair opposite him, her discomfort evident in her pretty features.

"Sansa sweet - what a pleasure it is to be reacquainted with you again."

"Baelish." She said indifferently, acknowledging his slimy words.

"I take it you are going to accept my offer?" He asked, eyeing up her bag of belongings.

"Yes." Sansa replied as she chucked her folder onto his desk. "What do I need this for?"

He raised a brow as he opened it, scanning through a number of papers and photographs at an agonisingly slow pace. "You need to sign some papers…health and safety."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Look, can we get on with this?"

Petyr chuckled, "My, you are an eager one, aren't you?" His gaze travelled up and down her body, "I don't know why I'm surprised; I was at the brunt of your eagerness last night, wasn't I Miss Stark?"

Her body froze as she recollected what happened the previous night. She remembered his hands trailing across her torso…caressing and stroking every part of her body- leaving her aching for his touch. How does he do it? Looking at him now, Sansa felt repulsed. Yet his touch left her desperate to be filled.

As if he could sense her arousal, Petyr rose from his chair and walked behind her. Silence encapsulated the both of them- until he unleashed his trained tongue on the nape of her neck. She leaned into him, a faint moan leaving her own lips. Her need for his touch made her swivel in her chair to face him, and their lips touched, initiating a long fight for dominance. Petyr's hands fondled her breasts, heating her abdomen with an urgent want for more. In a swift move, she stood and swapped positions with Petyr, pushing him fiercely into the black office chair.

"Clever girl." He spoke huskily, fingering the loops of her jeans.

"Shut it." She spat, before straddling his waist and crashing her lips against his.

Sansa sat in her new room, after unpacking the few belongings she brought with her. Her new life would be humble to say the least; her bedroom was a box room – providing just enough room for a single bed and a chest of birch drawers. The walls were a pale pink, with a framed picture of Joffrey Lannister above the headboard of her bed, his beady green eyes somehow glaring into the room, his spectacular clothes emitting more light than the bare lightbulb above Sansa's head. The sight of the tyrant sickened Sansa to the stomach.

"I thought I left the sight of you at the Red Keep." She hissed to herself.

Angrily, she grabbed the picture and smashed it against the corner of the chest of drawers, causing shards of glass to fly across the room. But it wasn't enough. Sansa dropped the frame to the floor and began stamping on his face, her angry tears dropping onto the grey, industrial carpet. In a fit of grief, she gave up and slumped to the floor as more tears blurred her vision.

"Rot in Hell." She spat at the damaged frame, her venomous eyes betrayed by the mournful tears that moistened them.

That was where she remained until she was called for her first shift at _The Promise of Desire_ \- where she was to meet a friend she had left behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **Thank you for bearing with me** **Here's Chapter 3.**

 _ **First Shift**_

As the clocks ticked impatiently past six pm, Sansa began to clear her room and readied herself for her first shift. Her stomach coiled with nerves as she made her way to the bathroom she was sharing with five other girls, hoping that she wouldn't have to wait long for one of the girls who was already showering.

Time gnawed at Sansa's patience, and she knocked impatiently on the hollow door.

"Hey could you hurry?" Sansa asked, knowing that her first client would be here at seven.

An angry growl erupted behind the door, and steam burst through its cracks.

The door was open in a forceful pull, revealing a nude blonde woman, making Sansa blush.

"Fuck you wolf girl. Go lick yourself clean." She hissed venomously, the walls shaking as she slammed it shut.

Wordlessly, Sansa made her way back to her room, hoping that she'd be able to shower tomorrow morning.

Sansa slid the black stockings back up her long legs, every now and then listening out for her next customer. Baelish had already warned her that this next guy was a difficult one- but he was a quick fuck if he was pissed enough. Hearing the floorboards in the corridor begin to creak, Sansa swigged the last of the liquor from the bottle and hid it in the bottom draw of the bedside table. Her nerves began to soften as she lay down on her side and waited for the second client of the night.

Her first client was easy enough; he was a student at the local university, so he didn't last long and he thankfully wasn't too abrupt or harsh. Sansa was grateful.

The door opened with an abrupt slam, revealing a tall, frightening but yet a reassuringly familiar man. Sansa sat up and faced his shadowed figure, the scarred side of his face illuminated by the dancing flames of the candles scattered around the room.

"Mr Clegane." Sansa breathed, remaining still as she waited for him to move.

He rasped, "Little bird…"

His usual suit was replaced by a short-sleeved polo shirt and a pair of pre-loved jeans, and his ear piece was no-where to be seen.

"I take it you are not on duty tonight?" Sansa looked him up and down, referring to his occupation as the Head of Security of Joffrey's protection. _I wish he wasn't so fucking good at his job…_

Sandor slammed the door shut behind him, his breathing as heavy as the pungent aroma of the incense sticks that filled the room. "No little bird…my night off."

"Oh, how often does-"

"Enough fucking small talk girl – let's get this over with." He growled, darting towards the bed with an animalistic hunger.

Impatiently, he pushed her body flat onto the bed, her nonchalant gaze meeting his own unfeeling eyes. His calloused hands made contact with her soft skin, his fingers quick and trained as he briskly whipped off her bra and her lacy underwear. His eyes struggled to focus as he looked at the naked body he thought he would never see, and could only dream of while she was dating Joffrey Baratheon and under his protection. She was perfect, something Sandor could never have – but tonight was enough. He was drunk, as usual, when he heard of Sansa Stark's fall from grace and her new place of work, and he headed straight for the brothel for the chance to lay with something so pure and loving for once in his miserable life. At least he would have one happy memory.

"Sandor?" She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with innocence and confusion.

His heart slowed as he heard his name roll off the tip of her skilled tongue, as smooth as the touch her young skin offered. _She was still the same bird he knew at Red Keep Road – too fucking innocent for her own good._

He moved away from her body, and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his large hands.

Sansa's eyes floundered as she looked at the broken man on the opposite side of the bed, and thought of the way his hands had whipped off her underwear in just seconds. With most clients, she would want it to be quick and over with, but Sandor was different; he'd saved her in more ways than he'd known, and deserved to feel loved for at least one night. _'I'll show him that it doesn't always have to be quick and un-meaningful– it's what he deserves after everything he's done for me.'_

Tentatively, Sansa wound her arms around Sandor's neck, keeping still as she felt him jump at the sudden touch. She kissed his neck as he remained frozen and silent, his breaths short and uneven. She felt like stopping until she heard a faint growl in his throat under her lips, and she smiled as she continued to brush her lips over his burns. She had never been close to his burns before, but after everything Sansa had been through, she felt stupid for ever being frightened of something as harmless as old scars.

"Let me show you what love is." She purred into his ear that had been burnt away, slowly manoeuvring around the still man until she was sitting on his lap.

Being careful not to kiss him on the lips, Sansa skilfully held her lips just millimetres from his own, breathing lightly as she removed his shirt. Sansa ran her hands down his toned torso, the softness of his chest hair pleasurable against her fingers. Once he was warming to her touches, Sansa pulled away and looked into his frightened eyes, her gaze never wavering. With newfound confidence, the young woman took both of Sandor's hands that he had placed on her hips and positioned them on her breasts, feeling them tingle from the new touch.

A strangled gargle erupted from Sandor's mouth, and he gulped it down. He had never felt so much affection from another woman in all his life, and he'd never felt his manhood ache with the amount of lust he felt at that moment. This was Sansa Stark – the girl he had lusted after, but knew he could never have. Yet here they were. At that point, he had forgotten that he had paid for it, not that it mattered anyway – all the gold in the fucking _universe_ would be worth just an hour of _this_.

And it was at that moment, when he felt that he couldn't handle the lust he was feeling as he caressed Sansa's skin, he knew he couldn't do it; Sansa was a little bird. She was still so innocent, and she didn't deserve the life she was living – having sex in exchange for survival. As much as he wanted to take her, there and then, in that overwhelmingly hazy and stuffy room, it wouldn't be right. If they were ever to do it, as Sandor had dreamed night and night again, he would want it to be real…not forced behind a wad of cash.

Sandor pulled away, tearing his gaze from Sansa's confused face. "We're not doing this, little bird."

Sansa frowned, "W-why? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, there's nothing fucking wrong with you, I'd take you if you were just anybody else, but it's not right." Sandor whispered hoarsely.

 _You've finally done it- you've turned into a fucking soft shit_ Sandor cursed at himself, pulling his t-shirt back over his head.

Sansa nodded, hurt clearly etched in her pretty features. She followed suit and began to dress herself, not sure whether it was disappointment or relief she was feeling.

"Goodbye little bird." Sandor spoke, reaching for the door handle.

"Don't go!" Sansa hissed desperately, " _Please_ …stay. I want someone to talk to."

His hand still resting on the handle, Sandor looked back at the redhead sitting on the bed. Without realising it, it was like Sandor was looking into a grotty mirror; she was the epitome of loneliness.

Hesitantly, Sandor pulled his arm from the handle and tried to put on a front, fed-up of acting like the spineless bastard she made him become. "Why me girl?" He questioned, "You couldn't bring yourself to look at me back then, but now you want a bloody _mother's meeting_?"

Sansa looked down at her lap, her face so full of sadness that Sandor nearly took her in his arms, but instead he continued to glare at her hanging head.

"No…" She gulped, her features merging to anger as she eventually met his stare. "I want to talk. It's not like we ever did back at the Red Keep. I was pathetic I admit, but can't you act like a decent fucking human being and see that _all_ I want is a _normal_ conversation that doesn't involve death threats."

Sandor remained silent as guilt slowed his thoughts, feeling as if he had been hit by a fucking sober train.

"And it's not like I'm looking for an apology, so stop looking like that." She rolled her eyes, acting as fiery as her hair was red. "Now I know why you found me so frustrating."

A chuckle escaped Sandor's mouth before he could suppress it, and Sansa returned it with a meek smile, revealing two small dimples that neither of them had seen in a while. That smile ignited something small in Sandor that he wasn't sure existed. The feeling that he may have brought that ghost of a smile on that girls face nearly made him sigh in relief; at least there was still some happiness bubbling in the wounded bird.

Sansa and Sandor spent the remainder of their paid-for time together conversing about pastimes, and what had happened between now and then. Sandor explained about all the goings on of things happening in town, and of Joffrey's recent tyrannical behaviour. Hearing of Joffrey's evil from afar rather than experiencing it herself made Sansa feel gratitude, rather than hatred. _At least I got away – even if it means sleeping with men to survive. Anything's better than pretending to love Joffrey Lannister._

"The cunt doesn't even know how to run a fucking _sewer_ , let alone the country." Sandor cursed, his brow furrowed as he went on a tirade.

Sansa raised a brow as she took another sip of her whisky, "careful Clegane, you'll be killed for treachery."

Sandor chuckled throatily, "let the fucker. If only he'd try to do it himself; would give me a reason to kill the spoilt shit."

"If you hate him so much, why the fuck are you working for him?" She quipped, surprised at how much the _loyal_ Hound detested their Mayor.

His eyes burned angrily at Sansa's challenge, "maybe I should have accepted the cunt's marriage proposal instead."

Anger flashed in the young woman's face, and Sandor thought they were in for an argument – until she just shrugged her shoulders.

"What can I say, Clegane…what can I say."

Sandor withheld the shock in his expression, and just stared at the broken bird in front of him. Before she would have fought her corner, and came up with some bullshit excuse…but she had just accepted it. _The girl's lost some of the fight she had in her._

The clock on the wall began to beep, letting them both know their hour was up.

Sansa stood from the bed and hid away their glasses in a draw, and slid her stockings back up her long legs.

 _She's getting ready for the next cunt_ Sandor thought to himself, getting up ready to leave.

"Come back again, Clegane…if you'd please." She said behind him.

Sandor gave a grunt in reply, and slammed the door shut behind him. _There's no way in Seven Hells I'm coming back to this shit hole._ Yet Sandor knew that this wouldn't be the last time he'd pay a visit to Sansa Stark.

Sansa slept the best she had for a while that night – long after her last client had left her physically exhausted, but she was no longer _tired_. A new lease of life filled Sansa's being after Sandor paid a visit; his visit didn't just bring comfort to the young wolf, it also reminded her that whatever she was living now was bearable. She was Sansa Stark: daughter of Ned Stark, famed politician cruelly murdered in cold-blood at the order of her fiancé Joffrey Lannister- if she could survive being engaged to that monster, she could survive anything. Seeing Sandor Clegane reminded her of that…and that was something else she felt she had to thank him for.


End file.
